


Sweet Nothings - Paterson

by supersoakerx



Series: Sweet Nothings [4]
Category: Paterson (2016)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Public indecency, Rough Sex, erotic art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersoakerx/pseuds/supersoakerx
Summary: Wifey has been away at a small business conference for three days and Pat misses her something fierce.
Relationships: Paterson (Paterson)/Reader, Paterson (Paterson)/You, Paterson x You, paterson x reader
Series: Sweet Nothings [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921207
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Sweet Nothings - Paterson

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sweet Nothings](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/683026) by Neil LaBute, Mike Figgis. 



It’s been three days, and you were finally coming home to him.

He’d kissed you goodbye on Thursday morning, knowing that that afternoon, he’d walk back home from work, unlock the front door and step inside, and you’d be gone.

Indeed, by the time Pat got home on Thursday evening, you’d already landed. The conference was a huge opportunity for you, and one you’d grabbed with both hands.

It’s not that Paterson wasn’t happy for you. He was ecstatic for you. He was so proud of you, he knows how hard you work at the shop and how much drive you have to make your business the best it can possibly be. Your commitment and passion are just some of the many things he loves about you.

But three days… well, it was a lot for poor Pat to take.

Thinking back, Thursday night was the easiest. He’d seen you that morning, kissed you, held you close. He’d busied himself with things around the house that night. It wasn’t so bad.

But waking up alone in a cold bed on wet, chilly, dreary Friday. That pulled at his heart. He’d rolled on to your pillow, breathed your scent in deep, let his hand trail down to his boxers. Driving was difficult on Friday, he couldn’t keep focused, and he drank too much at the bar that night.

He’d had one too many and he can’t quite remember, as he stumbles in to bed, if the images that flash in his mind of his hand wrapped around his cock, while he leans up against the dirty bricks of some old building in some dark laneway… he can’t think if that actually happened, or if he just imagined doing that on his walk home from the bar. Surely, he didn’t, he would never pull his cock out and jerk himself to his release, out in the open where anyone could see, and spill out a load of his creamy white cum onto the black asphalt beneath his feet. No, Pat would never.

The next morning, he tried to remind himself that Saturday was it, the last day of his torment, you’d be home tomorrow and all he had to do was get through one more day and one more night. But it was just so hard for him, you wouldn’t understand, couldn’t possibly understand. Poor Pat.

So when Sunday finally rolled around and you called him from your hotel room to let him know you were leaving for the airport, just like you’d both agreed before you left, he felt his heart leap in his chest.

The lilt and melody of your voice, your laugh, your sighs… your breath. He would never admit this to you, but his fingers flexed and tensed, too eager: his cock pulsed and throbbed, too needy. Just from the sound of your voice. He wishes you’d stay on the line, just for a few more minutes, and just breathe for him, just let him stroke his cock and listen to the soft, natural rhythm of your breathing through the phone. It would be enough. He knows it would be enough.

Paterson wishes he wasn’t so desperate. It was only three days, and he was a grown man for God’s sake. But, there are these things you do to him, things you’ve always done to him, things you’ll always do to him. He yearns for you, he aches.

And now, he hears the rumble of a taxi cab pull up outside, and his heart pounds in his chest. He feels something wash over him like a thick black wave, something licks hot and heavy up and down his spine. He sees your hair first, as you step out of the car. Sees your body emerge, gracefully and effortlessly and you’re grabbing your bags and giving the taxi driver a sweet smile, the words “thank you” on your lips and Pat’s palms, they start to sweat.

He feels fidgety, he feels almost nervous and it builds and burns with every one of your footsteps as you walk up the drive, up the stairs, and open the door.

His heart does a flip when you lock eyes, and again when your pretty face lights up and you smile brightly at him and say, “Hi baby.”

You know you’ve only been away from your husband for three days, but you still missed him, regardless of how well your stall and speech and networking went at the conference. Falling asleep without his big warm body nestled against yours was a test and a trial.

Looking at Paterson now, you can tell he struggled too. He’s standing stock still, arms at his sides, fists clenched and his chest rising and falling with his breaths. His eyes follow your every move as you place your bags down on the couch and whip your coat off.

There’s a glinting darkness in his gaze. “Hi Pat,” you say, walking over to him, trying to diffuse whatever it is that’s spinning ‘round and ‘round in his head. “I made it, baby,” you smile up at him, running your palms up and down his arms. “I’m home.”

Pat’s eyes bore down on you. His brain is overloading, he doesn’t know whether to kiss you, pull you to him by your waist, fall to his knees before you, or knead your backside in his big warm hands. His eyes flick between yours. He doesn’t move.

“Did you miss me?” you say through a smile, running your hands up his arms and over his chest to settle on his pecs.

It breaks him.

His hands fly up to grip the sides of your face so fast you flinch a little, and he lowers his head down to you to speak. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning over your face. He takes a step forward and you take one back, “while you were away,” he walks you backwards into the wall and your body lands against it with a soft thud, “thinking about your body.”

Your heart rate starts to tick up now. His hands are so warm on your cheeks, his eyes so dark as they drill into yours. It’s almost like he’s looking through you.

You grip his hips, pulling him closer, and he takes your hint and crushes his body to yours, pinning you to the wall.

You say his name, softly, just above a whisper, and Pat suppresses a shiver. “I’m home now, baby,” you murmur, your palms gliding up and down his sides. You thought he’d be happy to see you, might want to snuggle into you on the couch, but you had grossly underestimated Pat’s need for you. You could feel it growing in his jeans.

He leans in closer, breathing into your mouth and his lips almost graze yours when he says, “I drew something for you. Something of you.”

“Me?” you chirp, tilting your chin to try and get your lips to touch his and rolling your hips against him.

Pat releases a long breath through his nose. He could easily fuck you here and now but he wants to show you, needs you to see. He whispers, “come downstairs with me?”

He releases his hold on you and takes a step back, holding his hand out to you. You feel only a hint of trepidation as he leads you down the stairs to his study. Once inside, he pins you to the door and says, “close your eyes. No peeking.”

Smiling, you do as he says, and a beat later you hear sounds like paper rustling and the clink of pencils knocking together.

Then, there’s silence, and you feel Pat’s warm hand grasp yours again. He walks you until your thighs hit what can only be the edge of his wooden desk.

You feel him lean down to your ear, his hot breath ghosting over your skin. “Open.”

You open your eyes and see three drawings laid out over Pat’s desk. They look like… they’re all…

“Is that me?” Your eyes flick over the papers, not really registering what you’re seeing. “Pat is that my…” you trail off, unable to complete your own thoughts, in awe of what are some very realistic and detailed sketches.

Pat doesn’t say anything in reply. He’s standing to your left side, and he just fixes his gaze on your face, dark and intense, while you stare wide-eyed at his drawings.

They’re beautiful, and highly erotic.

One of them is a lead pencil sketch of your cunt. It’s made of all soft lines and shading, and the point of view is from right up close between your spread legs. You can tell he spent a lot of time on your clit.

His deep voice breaks through the silence when he says, “I drew one each day you were away. I missed my little peach.”

In the second drawing, you’re clearly bent over on your hands and knees, on full and complete display. Pat’s sketched your pussy again, and your puckered little asshole too. He’s used some Copics in this one, and you can tell he tried hard to get the colours just right, there’s a lot of swatch marks in the corners of the paper.

Pat brushes some of your hair back behind your ear. He trails his fingers down your neck, shoulder, spine, and he mumbles, “missed my peachy girl.”

You smile and say, “missed you too, baby,” as you take in the third drawing. This last sketch is of your lips, looking full and plush, wrapped around what is definitely the head of his cock. The paper looks like it has a little stain on it. It’s not like the markers from the second sketch, it’s like he’s spilled water on it or something, but by the streaks and lines it could be watercolour, or…

You pick it up to inspect it, holding it closer to your face and you wonder: is it, could it, maybe it…

You start to say, “baby is this c—”

“I spent a lot of time down here.” Pat cuts you off, his hand trailing down your lower back. “The house was so empty without you, honey.” He chances a look at your ass, glides his palm over the curve. He flicks his gaze back up to your face, sees your head turned towards him with your eyes wide and mouth open as you hold the sketch he did yesterday in both your hands.

He knows what you’re asking, and he could tell you that stain is exactly what you think it is, but he knows you’ve figured it out already.

“It was only three days, Pa—” you try to say.

“It felt longer,” he snaps back, interrupting you again. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he plucks his sketch out of your hands and places it on the desk. He takes a step into your space, gets right up close to you and says, “much longer.”

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, and you’re lost for words. He’s staring at you so intensely, you could catch on fire at any moment.

Suddenly Pat spins you so your backside is against the desk and his body is pressed into your front. He leans over you, his hands planted on either side of your hips on the desk.

“Feels like,” he looses a shaky sigh, “it’s been so long… I bet you’ve forgotten what I,” he pauses, leans in just that bit closer, “feel like.”

You know what he wants to do, you’ve known for a little while now that he wants to be the one in control. You weigh up whether or not you’ll let him.

Pat breaks into your thoughts. “It’s been so long… I bet I could,” he pauses, one of his hands leaves your side to grip the ends of your hair in his palm and pull, tilting your whole head back, “hurt you.”

You look at him with fire in your eyes, and he matches you. He bears down on you, leans over you, his hot breath fanning over your face and his eyes filled with a dark lust, oozing as black and sticky and thick as tar.

You drop your voice and breathe your words at him huskily, “is that what you want to do to me? You want to hurt me with this,” you slip your hand down between your bodies to grope his cock where it hangs hard in his pants, and he gasps as you say, “big dick? You want to break me with your,” you make big sweeps over his clothed length with your palm, and drag out the syllables, “long, thick, cock, Pat?”

He shudders and his top lip pulls up in the hint of a snarl.

You rumble back at him, “mmm you wanna break my pussy in two, don’t you?”

“Your kitty,” he blurts the words out, almost throwing them at you.

Your hand on his slacks slows, “my what?”

His breathing is shaky. “Your kitty.” He reaches around you and grabs the sketch he did of your flowering core and points to tiny little text in the faintest grey lead you almost can’t see it.

You grab the drawing from his hands and inspect it closer. Pat’s little scrawl reads ‘my kitty’’

“I named you. All of you, while you were away.” Paterson’s hand dips beneath your skirt, between your thighs. “Every spot on your body. Every last inch.” His fingers glide along your clothed cunt and he goes further, dipping between your ass cheeks and skimming one of his fingers along your hole through your panties. “Mmmissed my bunny.”

His words, his hands, he’s making you feel hot all over. “Those are your names for me, baby? Your kitty, and your bunny, Pat?”

“Yeah… like how you,” he drops his voice, like he’s afraid someone might hear, “like how you dress up for me sometimes.”

He starts to rub circles around your own tight ring, and you stifle a sigh. Your hand flies up to grasp the hair at the back of his neck in a tight fist.

You pull him close, lick up the column of his throat. His eyes flutter and he sighs when your tongue passes over his Adam’s apple and you keep going up and up, Pat tilting his head up to give you access to the underside of his mouth and at the bottom of his chin. You pull up, and nudge your chin against his as you pull away.

You lean in close to his face, breathe into his mouth when you say, so quiet and slow, “you think, you can name, parts of my body? Like you own me, Pat?”

His hands grip your waist possessively, fingers flexing, digging in to your flesh. “I do own you.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

You scoff. “You’re so convinced, big man,” you say, and he gulps. “You think you own me? You think I’m all yours and no one else’s?”

“Yes, you’re mine,” he breathes, his hands now clutching at the sides of your face.

You scoff again, your eyes squinting in pretend disbelief. “Then show me.”

In an instant he crushes his mouth to yours in a heated kiss, slips his big hand inside your panties and begins to rub your clit, and uses his other hand to unbuckle his belt, undo his jeans button and unzip his fly.

He pulls away for air, muttering “I’ll show you, I’ll show you,” and you moan as his two fingers work over your clit expertly. He fishes his cock out of his trunks and he strokes over it just as he slips two fingers inside your pussy.

“Fuck, Pat,” you gasp, his fingers feeling too much, only halfway inside and not able to go any deeper.

“So fucking tight,” he mumbles. Normally he would ease off, take it slower, but something comes over him as he thrusts his two fingers in and out, just halfway, trying to loosen you up for him. “Take it, take it, take it,” he mutters, to himself it seems. Louder he says, “knew I could hurt you.”

Something flares within you. “You like it?” you pant, “you like hurting me?” even though you’ve slicked up his fingers something fierce.

“Daddy likes it,” he growls out, and your cunt yields to him, sheaths his fingers down to the knuckle, making you both groan. You’re still so tight on him, clamped down so hard he can feel your pulse. Pat mutters a curse.

You bat his hand away and grip his cock tight, stroking him. You make your eyes big and your voice little and say something you think you both need. “Hurt me, Daddy.”

“Oohh, fuck, baby” Pat groans, and starts to slide his fat fingers in and out of you.

“No,” you say with force, gripping his wrist to still his movement.

For a moment, or even half a moment, concern flashes over Pat’s face. He blinks at you, like he’s coming out of a fog, and when you whisper, “no,” and just slightly shake your head, the look of tenderness on his face is gone.

His eyes and jaw are set again, and he rams his fingers the rest of the way into you forcefully, making your belly shudder. “Are you gonna cry for me, little peach? Cry when I break you open?”

Staring him straight in the eyes as your whole body rocks with the force of his hand you weakly say, “yes, Daddy, I’ll cry for you.”

And Paterson snaps.

He rips his fingers from you and yanks your panties down. Not even all the way off, just down to your knees. He turns you over, pushes you down with a hand in the middle of your back, so you’re bent over his desk, your face in all his drawings, and he flips your skirt up over your ass.

The view, the sight of you like this has him drooling and rumbling a low and deep growl from the back of his throat. He sounds like an animal. It thrills you.

“Give me that tight pussy,” he says as he sidles up behind you, his legs brushing against the backs of your thighs.

You grind yourself onto his cock and say, “this one, Daddy?”

“Oh fuck honey,” Pat says, forgetting himself as he gets lost in you. He grips his cock to line himself up with your pussy, slides along your lips, getting his dick all wet in your slick folds. “I’m gonna ruin you, peaches.”

You flick your head over your shoulder, huff a laugh and say, “please?”

That’s what does it. You’re altogether too cheeky, sweet, playful, sexy: too much for his brain to process. He feels like he needs to claim you, needs to show you that you’re his, needs to remind you how good he is for you and most of all… needs to show you how much he missed you.

Nostrils flaring, he grips your hip with his free hand and slowly, slowly, slowly, eases his cock deep inside you.

You feel every inch of his long, thick cock as he sinks it into you, bit by bit, and your pussy stretches around him as he re-arranges your insides to make room for himself. There’s a stretch, a sting, a burn, he’s filling you to the point of pain—just like you wanted.

Poor Pat, when he bottoms out he tips his head back and bats his lashes to stop hot tears of intense pleasure from falling. You feel so fucking good, so impossibly tight, he knows he’s jammed his thick cock inside a hole too small for him, so small he feels your pussy walls flutter on his dick with every breath you take.

His eyes close, his brow furrows, his mouth hangs open as he tries to breathe while his cock is squeezed almost uncomfortably tight. Almost.

And then, you rock back into him.

His eyes snap open and he grips your hips with both hands, fingers digging in to your flesh.

“There he is,” you coo when he clutches at your skin, “you gonna ruin me or you just gonna enjoy the view back there?” Your tone taunts him, teases him, and you rock your hips again, relishing the delicious hot stretch from the friction.

You hear him murmur something, his palms rubbing circles over your soft, smooth cheeks.

You try to clench on his cock to get him to talk but he’s stuffed you too full, so you just say, “didn’t hear that, baby,” and flick your head to your shoulder again to try and see him from your peripheral.

A second later he grabs the ends of your hair and pulls, drags his cock out of you halfway and then snaps back in with a ferocity you didn’t know he was capable of, making you gasp as tears prick your eyes. “I said,” he says through clenched teeth, “does it hurt?”

You take a couple panting breaths, adjusting to the sting of his fat cock all over again. “Yes, Daddy,” you say breathily, really putting it on for him, “it hurts, it’s too big.”

Paterson feels wild, feral, hearing the way you say that. He starts to roll his hips, his cock dragging out along your silky walls and then spearing back into you. You moan from the friction, the sting, and it shoots right through him. “Too big, baby?” he huffs a breath: it’s taking everything in him to hold back and genuinely not hurt you, with the way you’re slicking up his cock. He feels desperate in a way he hasn’t before. He wants to make you scream for him, scream so loud your throat hurts.

You hum a moan, he feels just too good, “sso, so big, Daddy, y-you’re splitting me oh-open,” Paterson grunts, and you continue, exaggerating and drawing out the next words, “Daddyyy, it’s tooo biiig.”

Pat feels hot, tingly, crackling with energy, a sense of wickedly primal dominance running through him as he says, “You’ll get used to it,” and starts to pound you into his desk.

His thrusts are strong, solid, steady, he fucks into you at, maybe, two thrusts a second and goes hard, deep, rocking you forward and making the books on the shelf rattle.

You try to speak, not ready to give up just yet, wanting to tease and taunt him some more. “W-will I? You gonna, ruin my pussy with your, big cock? Fuck me so no, no other man can?”

“Aahhf-fuck,” Paterson groans. He knows you’re still playing with him, you both trying to see who breaks first. But he loves it, and he feels his sense of rationality, grip on reality, leaving him. “No one else, only me. Gonna wreck you,” he pants, “Daddy’s gonna wreck your little kitty, stretch you open on my big cock, fuck you like no one else, you’re mine, you’re mine.”

Your pussy starts to make sloppy wet sounds with each of Pat’s thrusts, and your hands fly up to try and grab something to hold on to. “Fuck yes,” he groans from behind you, his cock sliding along your insides with ease, with no resistance, nothing but “slick sloppy wet hole, love this pussy, love my kitty.”

Paterson is making your bones rattle. You’re both fully clothed—just about—and fucking like animals. “You missed it didn’t you?” you pant, reminded of something as your husband drills into you from behind.

Paterson groans in assent, starts to pull you back onto him by your hips, in time with his thrusts into you. It makes that slapping sound that you both love.

“Yeah?” you prod him, “and you fuuhh, fucking, jerked off to your own d-ahh—drawings of me? My mmmouth on your hard,” he thrust into you particularly hard then, and you moan, loud, “hard cock!”

“Yes I did, yes I did,” he chants, and he does it again, an especially hard and deep thrust knocking into your cervix and you smile, another of your moans turning into a pleased and breathy laugh.

It only fuels him, burns him, gets him real hot and riled up. “Is that funny?” he asks, grunting and pounding into you, “fucking funny to you?”

You gasp through your words, “how hard did you cum?” You don’t see it but Paterson tips his head back and groans. “Huh? How hard? Was it a big one, baby?” You try to make your voice firm but you pant and sigh through your words, pleasure filling up and boiling inside you.

Paterson just grunts and mumbles, “big one, so big. Big mess.”

“What did it, huh? Cumming on my f-face? In my ahh-ass?”

Paterson groans from deep in his chest, sounds almost like he’s in pain. In a rush he pulls out of you and flips you around to face him.

His eyes search yours for a second, black and wild, and then he grabs you by your waist and hoists you onto his desk, landing you down with a thud. You never knew that his desk was the perfect height to fuck you on, but Pat must have.

On instinct you bunch up your skirt at your waist, wrap your legs around his hips, feeling almost anxious to get him inside you again now that he’s stretched you big enough to take him.

Pat grips his cock and slips it inside you easily, your wet pussy swallowing him hungrily. He grabs your waist, fingers digging into your flesh, and starts thrusting into you again, this time a faster, brutal pace, making tears well up in your eyes as you moan. “It was everything,” he answers you through a gasping groan, “everything about you. I love—”

“You love ffucking me like you fucking hh-hhate me,” you cut him off, not wanting him to get lost in a moment of tenderness again, not when he was fucking you so good and rough, like you’re both desperate for. “Why didn’t you clean it?” you puff the words out in a breath as he slams into you, the desk underneath you rocking.

“I let it dry, wanted t-to sh-show you, wanted you t-oh, to see.”

You growl out through clenched teeth, “you’re so fucking dirty, Pat.”

His nostrils flare and he leans in, snarls at you, “wanna see your face when I make you cum on this cock.”

“You think you can do that?”

He pounds into you deeper, harder, the desk slamming against the wall, books and pen holders tipping over. His hands fly up, one wraps around your throat and the other the back of your neck.

He gets right up in your face. “I know your little clit is throbbing,” he pants.

“Is it?” You’re still trying to tease him, but like this it’s too easy for him to break you. At this angle he was drilling into you as far as he can go, hitting the end of you, and you know you’re fighting a losing battle now. “You think you’ve fucked me that good?”

Paterson smirks. “You tell me, peach” he says, his hand at your throat dipping between your bodies, thumb rubbing over your clit. You moan, high and needy, not caring that you’re giving the game away and he says, “yeah, you tell me,” he growls, and he leans in to your “and call me fucking Daddy when you do.”

You moan out a, “oh, God,” and Pat huffs a laugh. He says, “close, baby, but not what I asked for.”

It was all getting too much, his words, the ferocity in him that you kept baiting and teasing. The slam of his hips, his thick, long cock batting your cervix and his thumb working over your clit. You’re about to snap.

“D-Daddy,” you try, panting and moaning like an animal, tears slipping out onto your cheeks, “I’m, I’m,” you can’t get the words out.

“Are you crying, baby? Did Daddy fuck you so good you’re gonna cry and cum all over him?”

You moan your assent to him, and he pants, “Tell me. Tell Daddy.”

You repeat his words back to him in a rambling mess of moans, and Pat feels on fire, his whole body alight and vibrating with pleasure. He rumbles into your ear, “let me feel it, peaches. Cum on Daddy’s cock.”

You snap and break and shatter on Pat’s thick cock. You scream and cum in roiling waves and clench and squeeze and clamp on his dick and you see black, for a second.

Paterson’s body is awash in ecstasy as he feels you cum on his cock, it triggers his own orgasm and he lets go, lets it overtake him. His whole body shudders as he pumps you full of thick, creamy, hot cum.

You’re both shaking, sweating, panting, and clutching on to each other tight.

A few moments pass and your breathing settles. Pat’s voice is low, soft, soothing in your ear. “I missed you so badly.”

You pull away and look into his eyes. They’re so big and brown and sweet, so honest and good and adoring. You gently press your lips to his, and he meets you, joins you, brings his warm hands up to cradle your face. You pour all your love into it, caressing his lips and his tongue so delicately, so tenderly, that you draw a small moan from him. You pull back and his eyes are glassy. “I know,” you say, and lean in to kiss him again.


End file.
